Saying Goodbye
by rumpelsnorcack
Summary: Brian finds a letter from Rory explaining what has happened to him.


_A/N: I wrote this way back when Amy and Rory left the show, but I never got round to finishing it. I suspect I didn't really want to say goodbye. But it's time now to finish it and send it out to the world._

The yellowing paper fell from lifeless fingers to flutter to the floor. Brian's breath huffed out in a strangled squeak. The thought thudding around his head tormented him. This is all my fault. This is all my fault. This is all MY fault ...

His glance fell on the words fading from the old paper. '... but don't worry, Dad, we've been happy. We've lived a long life. I'm ... actually, I think I'm older now than you are. That's weird. Not as weird as the River thing, but I'm sure you'll meet her. It may be best if she tells you about herself; this is just supposed to be a note really. I just didn't want you unprepared when the Doctor finally works up the courage to come see you ...'

Did it help? No, not really. Rory was trying, Brian knew that. But, the thing was, he'd sent them off – his son and daughter in law – for that one last fatal trip with the Doctor. It was his own damn fault that he'd never see Rory again, that this old letter had turned up instead.

The doorbell chimed, startling Brian out of his shock. Hands still shaking, he fumbled with the latch before he could get the door open.

'Brian old chap! Nice to see you. Still keeping logs? Excellent.' The Doctor hopped awkwardly from foot to foot as he tried to make small talk. Brian stared at him in silence, watching as the tension in the other man's face turned to a sickly pallor.

'You know.'

'Yes.'

The Doctor's mouth opened, then closed. He looked like a very small child and an old, old man all at the same time. He put one hand on Brian's shoulder then twitched it away to straighten his bow tie.

'I'm sorry. I should have left them behind here.' An awkward pause opened between them before the Doctor continued, 'It's just that I don't like endings.' There was a sense that he was somehow asking forgiveness from Brian in about the most ineffectual way possible. Brian snorted.

'You want a cup of tea?'

'Tea? Yes. Tea is very civilised. Yes, let's have tea.'

Brian made the tea in silence, the familiar routine comforting him and taking his mind from the yawning realisation that his only son was gone. Probably dead. The date on the letter had been several years ago and Rory had said he was old now.

'They're happy, you know,' said the Doctor as they sat facing each other across the wide expanse of the table.

'So I understand.'

'Just think of it like they moved to America. And had such a great time they hardly had time to write. That's what I do, when ...'

Brain could feel his face tighten at the implication. The Doctor did this. A lot. But he didn't; Brian didn't, and he just wasn't prepared for the finality of the situation. The tea in his hand stopped feeling comforting and he placed it carefully down on the coaster, noticing in passing that it was the one Rory had always used as a young kid. The stain where he'd spilled his first cup of coffee all over it was still as clear as the day he'd done it. Brian's hands shook.

'I think you should go,' he said, his voice feeling unnaturally loud in the strained atmosphere in the kitchen. The Doctor nodded once, then left. Uncharacteristically he didn't say a word; there was no mile-a-minute gabble. Despite having asked him to leave, Brain felt suddenly bereft. He needed to get out of the house.

Lost in his own thoughts, his steps took him to Rory's house. When he realised where he was, Brian stopped and took a deep breath. Why not? He thought. I have to face it sometime or other. Why not now?

He walked up to the front door, and took out the key Amy had pressed on him when the cube things were infiltrating the place. In hindsight, Brian thought that she'd done it because she didn't quite trust the Doctor, who was staying with them, not to destroy the place when both she and Rory were at work.

As he pushed the door it resisted and Brian was forced to slide into a small gap he finally managed to wedge open. Looking down he saw the problem – a large pile of letters had piled up behind the slot. As he looked at them, Brian gasped and slid one out from under the pile.

Brian Williams c/o Rory and Amy Williams ...

With shaking hands he ripped it open.

'Dear Brian.

If you get this it means that you've gone to our house. That means, I'm sure, that you know what happened. I know I'm near my own end; I can feel it. My body's shutting down, but this seems like the very best chance I have to update you on everything. I know Rory wrote to you several times during his life and left those letters to get to you in so many ways. He was paranoid, you see. He worried that you might never know what happened to us, and always wonder why we never came back to see you. I'm sure you'll get most of them somehow. I know this will be our last letter to you, but it may not be the last one you receive.

Rory. He didn't ever want me to write to you, because he knew I'd gush but it's my last chance and I had to write one final time. Rory was a great man, Brian. He lived a wonderful life and he made my life so much better through being in it. Yes I have to say 'was' – he died a few years ago. I'm sorry to have to tell you that, but I think you should know. It feels wrong to me to leave you in a void; like it would be dishonest not to tell you when I write this final time. I'd like you to know he was the very best man I ever knew, and he owed a lot of that to you. You did a great job raising him. From the minute he took me under his wing when I was a horrible eight year old with an attitude he has been my rock, and you with him. You must know how grateful I am that both of you were in my life. I chose to follow Rory here, you know; I didn't have to. The Doctor didn't want me to. But it was _Rory_, and I knew that no matter what, if we were together we'd both be fine. And we were.

He didn't want me to tell you this (modest to the end, was Rory), but he went back to nursing after we got here. It was like he couldn't stay away, and he'd hate me to tell you this but he was good – really good – at his job. When we first fetched up here it wasn't normal for men to be nurses, but Rory didn't care. Being a nurse was so much part of him that he almost couldn't do anything else. I wish you could see the people he helped, Brian. With his knowledge from his days at Leadworth Hospital he was able to do far more good here with the more primitive medicine they used. People used to say he was a miracle worker, and he'd laugh and say 'no, I'm just ahead of my time' – it was his favourite joke.

I can't do justice to Rory's life in a short letter, Brian, and I'm getting tired now so I'll wind this up. I just want you to know you can be proud of the man your son became.

We made some money over the years and as we have no family here I've instructed in my will for it to be left to you and to my parents. Try not to be too sensible with it all – enjoy yourself, live a bit. Run away to the stars if the opportunity comes up. It's all worth it, you know.

Lots of love,

Amy.'

Brian wiped away a tear from his eye and took a deep, shuddering breath. He felt better than he had before. Amy's letter had settled something cold that had taken up residence in his chest. He still felt old, so old now that he knew he was, effectively, the last Williams. No family ... she said they had no family. Brian was saddened to know that Rory, who was so desperate for children, had died childless. Still, it sounded like Rory had lived a good life and been happy, and really that's all you could ask for, for your children. Most parents didn't get to know what happened to their kids at the end of a long life, so Brian was one-up on them.

Gathering his thoughts together, Brian picked himself up from the spot he'd slid to on the floor while reading Amy's words. He began collecting the letters together to put them on a nearby table. When he did that he noticed a book that had been left out of place. Rory was so fastidious he'd never have left a book out, so Brian – in the one last act he could do for his son – took it upstairs to put it away. When there he found something else to tidy up, and soon he found himself in a frenzy of sorting and tidying. Finally, sweating but happier, he took one last box up to the attic. There, in one corner, was an old dresser. Curious, Brian wandered over to it. He'd never seen this before, and was unsure why Rory would have kept it. Opening a drawer, he gasped as another letter revealed itself, the words 'Brian Williams' written in bold fountain pen on the yellow paper.

'Dear Dad,' it began, before enumerating the same information Rory had imparted before about the weeping angels. This time Rory had been in an expansive mood, however. He carried on, 'I should tell you about your grand-daughter and how we loved and lost her, but eventually brought her up in our own way. It all began when Amy ...'

Smiling, Brian settled down to read. A grand-daughter! Obviously Rory had left more behind him than Brian realised. Perhaps he might meet her one day. Maybe he had lost his son in this life, but it looked like Rory was going to be with him in letter form for some time to come.

For the next few years, Brian would occasionally stumble on another letter and learn another small piece of Rory's life. The Doctor would turn up at random moments and whisk him away for a few hours. Sometimes he was accompanied by River Song, whose story Brian eagerly soaked in whenever she was around, though usually The Doctor was accompanied by Clara who seemed to be a fine, sensible woman. Through it all, Brian never forgot Amy's admonishment – he did run away whenever he could and he kept in mind that what happened to Rory was worth it. The people he and Amy had left behind were all richer for having known them and Brian knew that wherever they ended up, Rory and Amy had been fine – better than fine. They'd been marvellous, together.


End file.
